Traditions
by Magical words from Muggle pens
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy is the epitome of the ideal Slytherin and Malfoy heir. But all the traditions he's expected to uphold shatter as the fiery Rose Weasley enters his life. Companion piece to 'Chaos'. One shot: Rose/Scorpius.


**Traditions**

_We don't want tradition. We want to live in the present and the only history that is worth a tinker's dam is the history we make today._

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**Ambition**

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Scorpius Malfoy is gifted with a natural intelligence, the kind where just one reading suffices to get an Outstanding and, in a few moves, he can turn the most impossible chess game in his favor. He never has to try very hard. It's just innate.

He is the pride of his family and the Slytherin house, possessing all the skills to smoothly rise to the top.

But he doesn't ... not when it comes to impressing professors in class.

He tells himself that he is bucking tradition, and ambition, out of pure laziness. Fawning over professors, begging them to pay attention to them is for others less confident in themselves.

It isn't his fault that Rose Weasley is the only other student capable of answering questions.

She walks into class with her heavy bookbag, placing her ink bottle and papers out carefully. She is unsettled, darting her brown eyes toward him before focusing ahead, expecting him to steal her glory again. He smirks.

Yesterday's spontaneous decision to participate in class was to regain some of Slytherin's lost points, he assures himself, and not to see her irate flushed face.

The splotches of angry red still adorn her cheek when he teeters back on the legs of his chair, whistling smugly. He avoids her suspicious glances.

Professor Flitwick trots into class, glancing at Scorpius expectantly, not knowing he will be disappointed as the lesson commences.

"What is the levitation spell?" he looks out at the class.

_'Wingardium Leviosa_,' he mutters under his breath.

"Wingardium Leviosa," she replies an instant later, aloud.

A pleased expression overcomes her. She sits taller, blissfully unaware that he has guessed the answer before her.

"And for a human body?"

_'Levicorpus_,' he drawls to himself, lazily flicking at the dust on his robe.

"Levicorpus," she clearly answers again.

"What are the five rules of accurate levitation?"

He doesn't bother voicing the answers in his head, simply letting pale lashes flutter shut as her strong voice carries over the classroom.

Her face is ecstatic, and she surreptitiously glances at him, anticipating a challenge.

But he does not have to feign ignorance again. His eyes are closed and he is already miles away from the classroom, drifting on a dream softly.

There she is, dark eyes sparkling, and russette locks fly all over.

_Scorpius_ _..._

a whisper.

His cheest squeezes inextricably, and his eyes fly open in surprise.

She is still there, smiling as sweetly as in his sleep.

Because of him,

Only him.

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**Purity**

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They are all blood traitors and muggle-lovers, a disgrace to purebloods everywhere. He has no place amongst them, no reason to fraternize with them.

But he does.

His best friend's father battled against his own, fought against the very tenets of traditional wizarding society. But he still joins him to visit their family for the first time.

All eyes are on him as he arrives, and not one person makes a move toward him. They are all filled with suspicion.

He should know better than to care what they think, or feel. But he shifts on his feet, sensing the twitches of a sneer cover his face.

Suddenly a voice floats over the silence, and a few people shift to make way for the petite girl edging her way through. She is seemingly unaware of their stares as she approaches him, holding two glasses in her grasp.

A pale eyebrow quirks up at her. She huffily hands him a glass of cider, and he notices the others have visibly relaxed. Albus beams at them.

Pale, neat fingers touch the cool glass, brushing against her soft feminine hand. He tightens their fingers' embrace, until she pries hers loose, flushing furiously.

She stares for a second before thrusting her nose up in the air and marches back to the others.

He is about to follow when he sees her scarf on the ground, the pure white silk tainted by mud.

He bends to pick it up, intending to return it, when the distinct scent of a feminine fragrance hits him.

Slowly he lifts the delicate fabric to his nose and breathes in the flowery scent, imprinting it in his mind. The splotches of mud stain his fingers, but he does not care.

Hastily pocketing it away, he joins the festivities.

She would never know what happened to her scarf.

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**Pride**

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His breath leaves him as, for the first time in the entire year, the golden snitch flutters in his hand. He has finally broken her winning streak.

His lips part in wonder as the moment envelopes him.

Pride and triumph surge fiercely through him as the emerald crowd lifts to its feet, chanting his name. It pumps through him, liquid fire.

His victory is short-lived as a boy in scarlet robes hurls toward him, prodding him with a demanding finger.

"Cheater!" their captain accuses.

"Hold it. What makes you say that?" the Slytherin team captain calmly intervenes.

"He's a _Malfoy_. They're infamous for doing conniving things."

The fire in his veins turn cold. He grits his teeth harshly, affronted that their captain has slurred against his family - tarnishing his dignity and success.

He starts toward him with every intention of defending his name when someone obscures his view.

Voluminous curls bounce freely as she steps toward her captain, shielding him away.

"Stop it! You know parentage doesn't define who you are," she scolds, pursing her lips at the boy. "He won fair and square."

He feels his lips part in silence, but their captain is relentless.

"Weasley, back off."

"No, Wood. I didn't get there in time. That's all. He was much more focused and I took my eye off the snitch _cos_ ... look, just leave it. We'll do better next time."

They whisper harshly at each other, intent on keeping him out of it. But he cannot move away. Her cheeks are pink from exhaustion and fury. Her hip presses into him as she pushes him away from the boy.

A familiar fragrance floats out, over the sweat and grime. It teases him.

Their captain finally slinks away, defeated, and she slowly faces him with a hand held out. Their fingers intertwine for a moment, but it's gone.

Her low murmur of congratulations echoes long after she leaves.

Something lifts in him, carrying him high above the glory of victory.

All his allegiances - to Slytherins, to his family, to his pride - slip slowly away. _Forgotten_.

He would willingly give them all up...

If she just asked.

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**Control**

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Scorpius is a prized pupil in the Slytherin house, but never one to follow the rules. So it comes as a surprise that he is chosen as a prefect. It is not because of his name or stature, but because of his immeasurable calm and cool control, inherited from his father.

The temperamental members of his house can never stand a chance when he takes charge.

His fellow prefects gather to listen to the Head Boy as he explains important rules of self-defense, who then illustrates an important spell. The Head Boy urges them to learn it.

They dissipate into small factions to practice the charm. In his periphery, he notices the redheaded girl off to the side.

She gestures to the younger prefects as a silver lioness leaps effortlessly from her wand. A boy coos in amazement.

Smiling, he retreats to a corner, wanting to practice the spell before demonstrating it to the others. He likes the solitude, he decides.

Flicking his wand, he waits for the imperial dragon to materialize. The silvery smoke shivers before bending into a distinct shape.

Out of nowhere, a lion appears.

He turns around, angry at whoever is interrupting his efforts. But there is no one close by. The others are distracted by Rose's successful patronus.

Frowning as he murmurs the words again, he watches the brilliant lion emerge from his wand, prowling the floor.

He prods at the animal, forcing it to conform to what it should be. But the beast merely lifts its head toward the beautiful lioness across the hall.

An electric current runs through his fingers, stinging and pricking fervently.

He clenches his fist, willing the burning sensation to wane.

Silently, he demands it again to change.

Its woeful eyes simply stare at him, and with a growl, fades.

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**Grace**

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He is sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, reveling in the early morning silence. All his homework is laid out in front of him and he focuses on it in concentration. It is nice, to be away from all the chaos.

The quiet is disrupted as a pair of boys sitting a few seats down cackle loudly, then continue whispering. They are plotting something, it is obvious by their conspiratorial winks.

He isn't fazed.

Malfoys are never perturbed by the ongoings of others, never too bothered to break their stride.

A third boy joins the pair and the tallest of them speaks loudly, in utter arrogance.

"Who wants to bet I'll pop that Weasley girl's cherry?"

They scoff then laugh, and Scorpius stiffens.

"I _can_ - just wait until I slip her some Firewhiskey and she'll be spreading her legs in no time."

He is up before the words are barely out, marching - storming over to the trio. Grabbing the boy by his robes, he hauls him up and punches him viciously.

There are screams, and the boy reels before charging at him menacingly. He reacts and is pummeling him into the ground, every fiber of his being smoldering with anger.

Hands are on him, restraining him and pulling him back.

It is Albus, and his cousin is not too far behind. Her mouth is agape.

"Malfoy, what the hell is wrong with you?" his friend demands.

He turns, a dark look covering his face.

"He tried to take what's mine," he spits.

Without another word, he gathers his homework and leaves.

_Mine_

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**Apathy**

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It has been exactly three years since her Quidditch accident, since their kiss. She casually mentions the date.

He pretends not to remember.

Opening the door, he shows her the cozy house he has bought for himself. She moves her eyes around wistfully and sighs.

He pretends not to notice.

Her brown eyes are suspiciously watery. She is hurt, broken, by the sight of the abode where she is a fleeting guest.

He pretends not to care.

Just as they turn the corner, he pulls her to the last room, but she is listless.

She snaps her hand back from his and almost turns to leave when her eyes focus.

Along every wall stands a bookshelf, filled to the brim with hundreds upon hundreds of books. Every single one of her favorite books is tucked into the mahogany shelves.

There, sitting on the ladder, is a small unopened box.

She slowly turns around to him.

He watches as realization dawns upon her. This home is not his ...

_Ours_

Gasping, she reaches for him. He gives in eagerly, kissing her pliant lips, holding her close as her fingers run through his hair.

There are tears streaking down her cheek. He tastes the salty moisture on her lips.

It is not on bended knee, not with candles, roses or a speech.

He knows not to worry.

For it is all for _her_.

That is enough to break all traditions.

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**A/N: I edited this to death and finally decided to put myself out of the misery & just toss it out to you guys. Hope you liked it. ****I wanted to include his side of the Amortentia scene in _Chaos_, but decided I wanted to do completely new scenes. I bet you can guess what he smelled though ;)**

**You know what to do .... REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW!**


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